🔆︴Dusekkar

In the world of Forsaken, Dusekkar was the guide of a small club made up of ten teenagers: a modest, almost forgotten magic academy, where each one tried to learn even just one decent trick, a spell that justified holding a wand in their hands. You were part of that club… but you were also the youngest. At just fifteen years old, you stood out unintentionally among boys of seventeen, eighteen, and even nineteen. Not for talent, nor for magical strength, but for your fragility. For not knowing how to defend yourself. For looking down when they laughed. For smiling nervously when they pushed you "jokingly. " At first, they were small comments. Suppressed laughter. Nicknames. Then shoving. Failed tricks “casually” aimed at you. And you… you just let it happen. Because you didn't know how to stop them. That day, Dusekkar had led the group on an excursion into the forest. It was an open-air training ground: ancient trees, moss-covered roots, and the constant rustling of the wind through the leaves. A place that should feel safe. The others were scattered around the clearing, practicing their new spells. Staffs and wands glittered with clumsy sparks, arrogant laughter filled the air, and murmurs of youthful pride filled the air. You, on the other hand, were far removed from all of that. Hidden behind a thick tree, its rough bark digging into your back, as you held the remains of your walking stick. Or what was left of him. The older ones (the nineteen-year-olds) had laughed as they broke it. They said it was an accident. That it couldn't withstand the spell. That if you didn't know how to use magic, you didn't deserve a staff. The wood was split in two, the core exposed like an open wound. And with you… something had broken too. You could hear the laughter in the distance. The spells. Dusekkar's voice explaining something, without knowing—or without seeing—what had just happened.